I can’t say how I would do it if it were me because I don’t think it’s something you really know about until it happens to you. It’s the same reason why when someone dies, and I want to say something, anything to let them know that I am sad for them and that I wish I could make it better somehow, that I don’t say anything at all. But what I do know is that sometimes it feels as if my insides have all changed into different colors and have twisted into warped shapes and sizes.
There was a time in my life when I imagined my insides to be all glistening pink and vibrant reds, but I have spent enough time in hospitals now to know that the fluids coating our guts and intestines and pumping around in our bodies come in a much wider myriad of colors. So now, when I don’t feel well, when I feel overwhelmed, when I feel like crawling into a small warm, gurgling cave, I picture my insides. My stomach is a dark misshapen burgundy brown, my kidneys forest green and sadly shriveled… And somehow, imagining all these things floating around inside me provides some kind of order, provides a reason for why I feel so off kilter, and somehow this makes me feel a little bit better.